We are much like the cherry blossom. Both our lives are beautiful and glorious, but also at the same time filled with tragedy, for both the blossom of the cherry tree and the lives of men can only be witnessed for a short time. However, the smell of the cherry blossom still reaches us, even when the beautiful flower has died and withered away.
Smells can remind us of times past, a man, much wiser than myself, once told me. Here, near the sakura, I finally know what he meant.
I still remember the smell of the blossoms in the garden of my family’s bukeyashiki, so many years in the past. The many trees around the sparring ground had exploded to life only a few days ago, but the wind was already claiming its first victims among the pink flowers. But the largest of the trees was yet to yield its precious treasures, gently waving in the breeze, as stubborn and proud as the rest of the Mitsurugi clan. And it was there that we sparred, in the shadow of this one defiant tree, the first drops of spring rain falling from passing grey clouds.
The clapping sound of the sozu and little splashes of the raindrops hitting the pond were interrupted by the clash of my sensei’s bokken as he once again easily parried my feeble attempt at an assault. The strength of his blows made my arms tremble, sending surges of pain through my fingers, once again making them bleed.
“Do you give up yet, boy?” the boisterous man shouted across the yard as I steadied myself, my feet finding security among the rough pebbles, ready to receive a possible counterattack. His black hair was still neatly bound in the ponytail that restrained it, while mine kept falling in front of my eyes, the tie holding the sleek hair in place long since lost after hours trying to defeat the swordmaster. As an answer to his question, I grasped the hilt of my own battered sword even firmer, my fingers sending signals of resistance to the rest of my body. One day, Yuudai-sensei was going to lose to me. One day I would make him pay for his arrogance, his loud claims at being the best swordsman, next to my father of course, and his love for alcohol and women. But this was not that day. My training sword flashed towards the rowdy samurai, only to be met with the sudden thunder of his blade. This time, it wasn’t just a parry. It was a proper attack, smashing the blade from my bleeding hands. The power of the blow made my body reel and sent me flying backwards. I crashed underneath the shadows of the rainclouds and the sakura.
Raindrops nearly blinded me as I saw how the clouds mingled with the flowers in the sky. The wind made another attempt to strip the stubborn tree of its prize and once again the deer chaser tipped its contents into the pond.
Suddenly, my father’s laugh boomed from wall to wall across the garden, drowning the sound of the spring rain. His laughter was good to hear, that meant that his wounds were healing and that the doctor let him finally leave his bed. “The boy still has much to learn, Yuudai-san.” spoke my daimyo and father as I tried to remove myself from my shameful position underneath the tree as respectful as possible. He stood there, on the porch of our mansion, a mountain among men. One hand was resting on the hilt of Mountain Splitter, while the other ruffled the fur of Kiba, the dog loyally waiting for its master to finish his business. “Agreed, my lord. Someday he will get there, at least, if he learns to control that hot head of his. His skill with the sword is there though.” the swordmaster responded to my lord-father. My father nodded at me, receiving a bow in return. “His skill with the sword alone won’t be enough. He will succeed me one day, old friend, and on that day, he must be ready.” the legendary man turned around, his inspection finished, the sound of his geta echoing across the yard.
As I watched my father leave, my hand went for my sword, which still lay there on the ground. I was ready for another beating from my teacher. My fingers grasped the weapon when I saw it:
The wind and the rain had finally won; a single cherry blossom came to rest on the blade of my sword. The sweet smell mingled with the smell of the spring shower and the blood on my hands.
Nice!
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